Summer Kisses
by pelokkain
Summary: Odd things happen in summer.


England pressed kisses to America's neck, running his hands through the nation's blond hair, eyes closed tight, murmuring things that didn't matter now, didn't matter at all really. America was almost hesitant in recuperating the actions, kissing him slowly, as if he had no experience in such. In fact, America had been like this all evening; stuttering and looking away blushing; not as annoying as usual, and England was drunk and he would've shagged anything, by the third cup of alcohol; it was lucky America was there - last time, he had found himself naked in bed with a lamp. That would have been awkward by itself but then fucking France was there too. And China. And Russia. And Iceland. And Norway. And Denmark. And -

Enough of that - England's thoughts were cloudy already from drink, and he wanted to concentrate on the slightly taller boy in front of him, drunkenly saying something - he wasn't exactly sure what it was, but America flushed a deeper red, saying a half-assed excuse that he had somewhere to be - it really was odd, how different the boy was in sex; England wondered if he was a virgin. When he voiced this, America blushed even deeper.

"N - no -"

By _t_hen, however, England had moved on, taking off his own shirt, since America was too nervous to even try to take it off; America barely noticed, as he tried to hide his face behind his fingers, stuttering more excuses - England kissed him and this seemed to make America talk even more; if you could call it that. He had let out a loud _squeaking _noise, and England had taken him by the hair, shoving his face into his and then their teeth knocked together and America said whiningly, "It _hurts _-"

"Shut up, will you?" England said, rather breathless. He slipped his hands under America's bulky shirt and America began laughing, still beet red, absolutely giggling like a schoolgirl. England paused, and then peered at America, rather hurt; was he that bad? "W - what is it?" England asked, now blushing as well; awkward.

"I - I'm not insulting you, England -" America had ceased laughing, but was now brighter red and clutching his stomach, as if it hurt from the laughter. "I - it's just that I'm _ticklish -_"

England blinked, looking at America in either disbelief or amusement. It was the same thing, when you were drunk. However, soon enough he was kissing him again, rough and demanding, like a child's tantrum. England shoves his tongue in America's mouth, and his lover struggles for a moment but finally gives in, and England notices that his mouth does not taste very much of hamburgers - instead, it tastes vaguely of something sweet - he doesn't exactly know what it is, but he likes it, all the same. Then again, he's drunk enough to like anything.

America then starts stuttering into his mouth, starts struggling again, and England releases him, staring at the blue-eyed boy, who is coughing from lack of air.

America looks at England, wide-eyed, and then, shyly, kisses him. It is almost chaste; England likes it very much - it is sweet and it makes England want to dote on him - it is similar to when they still lived together and America would hug him at random intervals. England kisses him back, just as sweet as he can muster; but you can't expect something quite as sweet as America's kiss, when he's so rough along the edges himself. America pushes at England's mouth with his tongue, and England returns this with his own tongue, opening his mouth and going into America's mouth, exploring it, memorizing its taste and its range.

Suddenly, England realizes a piece of information - that he should've used _ages_ ago, but America is goddamn _ticklish. _He is smirking when he pulls away and America is panting, flushed red, but not frowning and not exactly unpleased. England, now more aware than he was before, quickly unbuttons his shirt, brushing his hands against the boy's sides. America almost immediately starts squirming, going a deeper red. He then takes this as an opportunity, quickly reclaiming America's mouth for his own. America's kisses are quick and fervent and lets free a, "E - England, this - it isn't _fair _-" Or it sounds like that. Either way. England's tickling turns to caresses and eventually America relaxes.

Eventually, England gets impatient, tearing off America's rather thick clothes; he is such a goddamn tease.

England is kissing him, holding him, touching him in places he's never even dreamt of touching - okay, the last is a lie. He always dreams of America.

They're both naked and England's voice is breathy; "Are you sure you want this?" even though he knows the answer, as America goes tomato red, nods quickly, looking away. And a final thrust and America lets out a cry that makes England swell with pride, "Oh, E - England!"

England whispers sultrily into the boy's ear, "Let's go explore Florida, America."

America's eyes widen, as if he is surprised.

"I'm Canada - I don't have Florida, I only have Nova S - Scotia -" the blond looks at England rather pleadingly.

England looks at him oddly. "Who?"


End file.
